


His Mother's Son

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 08:41:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Maedhros encounters some unpleasant rumours about his family circulating Tirion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Mother's Son

Inspiration was slow in coming to her today, and Nerdanel stood by the large window of her studio, staring out into the garden. Suddenly she saw the skinny red-haired figure of her eldest son appear at the gate. As she watched, she realised that he kept darting furtive looks at the house, as though he were trying his best not to be seen. What had he done now? And… was he limping? With a slight sense of forboding, she opened the large shuttered doors and stepped out into the garden.

He started guiltily when he saw her, but seemed to realise there was no escape. As she approached, she saw that his elbows, knees and knuckles were scratched and bleeding, and a fresh purple bruise was blooming across his right cheekbone. He had a split lip, and was covered in dust from head to foot. Alarmed, she quickened her pace and called to him.

“ _Maitimo!_  What, in the name of all the Valar… what  _happened_ to you?”

He was silent, staring at his shoes, trying not to meet her eye.

“You’re going to have to tell me at some point, you know!”

He looked up at her balefully, and she softened a little. “Come on, let’s get you inside and cleaned up.” Taking his hand, she led him to her studio, where she lifted him under the arms and sat him on the workbench, his legs dangling a foot or so above the ground. She wetted a clean cloth with some water from the basin in the corner and began to gently clean away the blood and grime.

“So. Are you going to tell me what happened?”

He looked away again, reluctantly, and muttered something indistinct.

“What? I didn’t hear that. Maitimo, if something - or some _one_  – is bothering you, you know you can always tell me, don’t you? I won’t even tell anyone else, not if you don’t want me to.”

He looked her in the eye at last. “Really? You won’t even tell atar? Or Macalaurë? You promise?”

She held his gaze, wondering if she would regret this. “I promise.”

He spoke in a rush, the tears starting to come. “They… they hit me, ammë. There were lots of them, and they…” He breathed in sharply, squeezing his eyes shut to try to stop himself from crying. Nerdanel pulled a chair over, and sat him on her lap, a calming hand stroking his hair.

“Hush, Russandol. It’s all right now, they’re gone. Just tell me what happened from the beginning.”

“It was Laurekáno. He and his brothers were teasing me about the way I talk, and my freckles, and my hair, at first. But then he said…” Maitimo hesitated, looking away again as she wiped the grit from his scratched palms.

“What did he say? Tell me, Russandol, it will help you feel better.”

He looked doubtful, but he spoke as if reciting from memory. “He said I had the same hair as my ugly stupid slut mother. I don’t know what ‘slut’ means but I don’t think they were being nice. He also said another horrible thing, he said that Tyelko wasn’t atar’s son, because he has blond hair. That he must be someone else’s son, and they were all asking me if I knew whose, and…” he looked at her. “But I don’t see how that can be right. It can’t be true… can it?”

She gritted her teeth. “No. Maitimo, I promise you it’s not true. Don’t ever let anyone make you believe cruel things like that.”

Her head was spinning. There had been rumours before, of course there had. She had learned to block them out. Tirion was a hive of idle gossip, and as the slightly unconventional wife of an  _extremely_  unconventional prince, she tended to attract gossip more than most. She knew of this Laurekáno, a proud, golden-haired, half-Vanya boy. He was the eldest son of a house known for being staunch supporters of Indis, and followers of Nolofinwë. But the rumours had rarely been this vicious, and to involve her children… the thought made her feel sick, made her blind with rage.

But she kept her calm and looked back to Maitimo. “Go on. What happened then?”

“Then… I tried to explain to them. I told them how Tyelko is my full brother, not my half-brother like they said. That they were being nasty. And then…” he hesistated.

“Yes?”

“I… I tried to tell them, honest. I tried to talk to them, but it didn’t work, Laurekáno didn’t listen. So I… I gave him a bloody face. I think I might even have knocked one of his teeth out!” He said this with some satisfaction, brightening visibly.

In spite of herself, Nerdanel could not help but be slightly impressed. Laurekánowas twice Maitimo’s age, and more than a head taller.

“Maitimo! That’s not how we settle our arguments. You know that!”

“But I  _tried_  to talk to him! And he was saying nasty things about you and atar and Tyelko! But then he and his brothers hit me… they knocked me down, and there were lots of them, and I couldn’t…” he was almost in tears again. “I’m sorry, ammë. I did everything all wrong.” 

Nerdanel contemplated her eldest son. How quickly he had grown, since she had first held him in her arms. When he had been born, she thought that she had never seen anything more beautiful than their first child, hers and Fëanáro’s. She had dedicated much of her life to trying to capture beauty in stone, striving towards perfect, lifelike forms, but she thought later that she had never really known what perfection meant before that moment. It caught her off guard. And so she gave him his name, Maitimo, the well-shaped one, which was the greatest expression of love that she, as a sculptor, could give to the child who was more beautiful and precious to her than any work of art. Now she had two other children too, and she would do anything if it meant she could keep them away from harm forever. Anything in the world.

She smiled sadly. “Oh, Russandol. Dry your eyes, little one. You shouldn’t have done it, but it’s in the past now. And don’t worry, I still have to keep my promise; I’m not going to tell anyone. Now what do you say to coming with me to the kitchen? There are some apple cakes there that I think might just take your mind off your cuts and scratches.”

He sniffed and took her hand. “That sounds nice.”


End file.
